


A Different Kind

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Aromantic, Aromantic Papyrus, Edgepuff - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, Internalized Arophobia, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), amatonormativity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: “Papyrus, what’s wrong?”“What would ever make you think something so absurd as the idea of me having a problem, which definitely doesn’t exist?”More gently, Edge says, “It’s fine. You can trust me.” A pause. “I am your soulmate, after all.”And that… that is precisely the problem.
Relationships: Papyrus & Papyrus (Undertale)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 84





	A Different Kind

As the credits to Mettaton’s newest masterpiece come to an end, Edge turns off the tv. “Papyrus, what’s wrong?”

Papyrus shifts nervously on the couch, which is lumpy as ever. “What would ever make you think something so absurd as the idea of me having a problem, which definitely doesn’t exist?”

Rubbing a gloved hand over a scarred eye socket, Edge sighs tiredly. “How about the fact that you all but admitted it just now?”

Damn it. 

Before he can make a strategic retreat out the window, Edge grabs him by the arm. So much for that idea. His normal cheery smile plastered onto his face, Papyrus suggests, “Wouldn’t you rather take a walk —”

“It’s raining outside,” Edge cuts him off, his voice stern. As if to prove his point, a loud rumble of thunder serves as a crescendo to the incidental music of raindrops pattering against the house. Releasing his grip, Edge turns to him with a soft expression. Usually, that kind of look is something Papyrus works hard to make appear. Right now, though, it feels like a mean jape.

More gently, Edge says, “It’s fine. You can trust me.” A pause. “I _am_ your soulmate, after all.”

And that… that is precisely the problem.

* * *

Across the café, two loud gasps caught Papyrus’ attention. Automatically, he reached for a mop, expecting that he would need to clean up a spilled drink, maybe some shattered ceramic of a dropped mug. It wouldn’t be very good if someone were to slip on the wet floor, or for any fleshy customers were to accidentally cut themselves, after all. It would be one thing if it was a puzzle Underground, but here on the Surface, such things simply wouldn’t do! For one, Papyrus wasn’t trying to capture any humans anymore. Also, broken shards don’t belong in any puzzle. That is just plain old unsportsmanlike!

Before he could, however, a celebratory cheer broke out.

Oh.

A young couple, students if the textbooks and campus hoodies were any indicator, beamed brighter than the now brightly glowing marks on the insides of their wrists. From where he stood behind the counter, Papyrus couldn’t tell what the particular design was, but it was a given that they matched.

Two celebratory thumbs up thrown across to them, Papyrus pointedly did _not_ think of his own mark, strategically hidden by the high collar of his work shirt and the neck strap of his apron.

Soon enough, a new customer arrived, tuning out the series of congratulations given to the newly discovered soulmates with their order. As he waited on the milk to steam properly for the latte, Papyrus found his mind wandering traitorously.

Now, don’t get it wrong; Papyrus really enjoys his job. Working as a barista means that he has had the chance to meet new people on a regular basis and to bring smiles on their faces — even if the caffeine usually did half of the heavy lifting. On slower days such as this, he could even take a page out of Nice Cream Guy’s book and write encouraging little notes on the sides of people’s cups or a smiley face on their receipts, reminding them to be the greatest them that they can be! Overall, his job is a pretty wonderful thing.

Still, Papyrus would have to admit that sometimes, there is something just the slightest, _teensiest_ bit less than pleasant about it. Just a little bit irritating, like when Sans would prank him across time and space.

Like any public place that is relatively quiet and open to all kinds of people, soulmates constantly discover each other at cafés. In fact, Papyrus knew for a fact that there was at least one regular — Beatrix, if he correctly recalled — who went around to various cafés and bars with the express goal of finding her soulmate. He had found that out the hard way. The first time he had taken her order, she had very purposefully brushed hands with him, only to let out a disappointed sigh when nothing happened.

If he were to be completely honest with himself, Papyrus was selfishly grateful when he had learned the cause of her dismay. 

“Here you go!” he said brightly, handing the latte to the elderly monster waiting at the counter.

“Thank you, sonny.” They took a small sip of their drink, glancing over in the direction of the soulmates, who were still eagerly chattering at their table. “Ah, I remember the day I met my soulmate. Made a downright fool of myself, I did. But, hey, it all worked out, and that’s what really matters.” Sentimentally, they sighed, giving Papyrus a sinking suspicion of what they might say next. “Best day of everyone’s life, isn’t it?”

Now, if he were thinking logically, Papyrus would have lied, idly agreeing before going back to work. That is how small talk works, isn’t it? You just lie about small things to continue a conversation and move on with life.

Instead, words came tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. “Oh, I wouldn’t know.”

“You haven’t met yours yet?” A pitying expression covered the monster’s face when Papyrus shook his head. “Don’t worry,” they said, patting his hand in what was supposed to be a comforting manner. “You’re still young. You’ve got lots of time ahead of you, and you’ll meet your special someone before you know it!”

“I’m sure I will!” His smile felt forced, his cheeks twitching rebelliously as he tried to keep himself from gritting his teeth in frustration. The other monster soon left, sparing Papyrus from keeping up the mask for too long. Under his collar, the candy apple red mark seemed to twinge, as impossible as it was, as a rude reminder.

For as long as he could remember, his soulmark had been a source of discontent.

There wasn’t anything _bad_ about it, per se. Altogether, it was quite aesthetically pleasing. Even if he did keep it well hidden under his scarf so that absolutely no one would be able to see it ever; that was entirely unrelated. Papyrus had certainly seen worse looking soulmarks over the years, and he couldn’t deny that there was something appropriate about the shape of his own. The small Penrose triangle on his cervical vertebra had always reminded him of puzzles.

No, it was more what the mark represented that was his problem. There had always been something about the expectation that he _had_ to find “The One” and live happily ever after than always grated on his nerves in the same way as when his brother repeated the same overused skeleton puns every day. Not to say that he didn’t want to have a good future. Of course he did. But the idea that his happily ever after was tied to being in love with his soulmate, regardless of any of his own choices, just never sat right. To Papyrus, it had never seemed very fair.

Beyond that, Papyrus had never really felt the desire to have a soulmate? If it weren’t for the fact that everyone always talked about it, the idea would have never occurred to him. But they do, which made his irrelevant soulmark a hassle.

Even when he was in stripes, he remembered the other kids dreaming about their soulmates. It never made sense to him then; how can you dream about a future with someone if you don’t even know who they are or what they are like? As they all got older, the other kids would start having crushes, wishing desperately that the person they liked was their soulmate. Yet again, Papyrus didn’t get any of it.

Actually, he still didn’t get it. All that he knew was that he didn’t really want a soulmate. End of story.

The rest of his shift was rather unremarkable, to say the least. A few orders were very particular, but who was Papyrus to judge? If having a drink at a precise-to-the-degree temperature with countless other specifications helped make someone happy, good for them. There were certainly worse things that could be providing sparks of joy in people’s lives. Plus, it just served as a challenge to truly showcase how great of a barista Papyrus truly was!

Scarf painstakingly draped around his neck, Papyrus made his way out of the café. The young soulmates, who still haven’t left, gave him a quick wave which he returned; just because he wasn’t the most pleased about the idea of personally having a soulmate, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t be happy for them.

In his distraction, Papyrus didn’t notice the door opening, nor did he notice the skeleton rushing through it until it was too late and he was sprawled out on the floor.

“Sorry,” said a gruff voice, offering a hand to help him up. The other skeleton continued to speak, but it didn’t even register as Papyrus’ soul sank, heavy as lead.

No.

Stars no.

Papyrus squeezed his sockets shut. Maybe, if he was lucky, he had fallen down harder than he thought and he was just imagining the glowing light that was now piercing through the thick wool of his scarf. Yes, that was entirely possible. Right?

The second he cracked one eye open, the luminous orange Penrose triangle on the stranger’s neck told him otherwise.

 ~~His soulmate’s~~ the other skeleton’s sockets widened, the bright red eye lights the exact shade of the mark that was so desperately trying to reveal itself despite the layers covering it. Clearing his throat with a cough, he said, “I’m Edge.”

“Papyrus,” he finally responded, it taking several seconds for him to manage the ability. Allowing himself to be pulled up and brushed off, he tried to school his expression into something more appropriate for the occasion. Papyrus wasn’t exactly sure what that expression was meant to be, exactly, but he could definitely say that it wasn’t supposed to be upset.

“Are you okay?”

 _No_. 

But this time — ignoring the fact that Edge was likely referring to his physical state — Papyrus knew what the correct answer should be. What it had to be.

“I’m fine!”

* * *

“Sans?”

His brother shifted under his mountain of blankets, blinking blearily at him. “whassup?”

“Considering how you appear to be napping on the carpet and I am much taller than you, I suppose the answer is me.”

“heh. nice one.” A hand emerged from the pile, which Papyrus obligingly fist-bumped. Then, after giving Papyrus one of his deep, seeking looks, Sans said, “really though. what’s up?”

“I was wondering what it felt like when you first met your soulmate.”

At the mere mention, Sans grinned that dopey grin he always did when thinking of his soulmate. Which was precisely why Papyrus had gone to him to ask this question, actually. Since meeting his soulmate, Sans has been so happy. Much happier than he was when they were Underground, that’s for sure. In theory, he should have been the perfect person to ask.

…

Papyrus may have made a tiny miscalculation there.

“gee, paps. i’m not sure how to put it into words.” He scratched the top of his skull, thinking. “it was _soul_ fantastic.”

“ _Brother_!”

Sans shrugged, as if to ask what else Papyrus could have expected of him. Which, true, but how hard could it be to have one serious conversation, skeleton to skeleton? 

“ _tibia_ honest, though, i dunno what to tell you, paps. it’s just… good. the first time we met, there was this warm feeling, with all the endorphins and stuff going ten thousand miles a minute.”

So… happy? And a little bit excited? 

Clearly, if he wanted to get any better results, he would have to change his line of questioning.

“But how do you feel now that you are datemates? Is it different?”

“well, kinda.” Cheekbones heated, Sans continued, “you don’t really go around doing… _you know_ with someone you just bump into without something first.” Under his breath, as though he thought Papyrus wouldn't be able to hear him, he added, “like a lot of alcohol.”

“Oh.” 

“yeah.” A suspicious crease made its way onto Sans’ forehead. “any particular reason why you were wondering, bro?”

“No reason! Why would I ever need a reason to ask you about your feelings for your soulmate?” Refusing to allow his brother the chance to respond, Papyrus said, “Speaking of your soulmate and your many feelings, when is the last time you have shared those feelings? The dating manual states that communication is very important to a relationship. Therefore! Go communicate away!”

Luckily, Sans fell for his clever diversion hook, line and sinker. “good idea, bro.” 

* * *

Next up was Undyne.

They were busy cleaning up after their latest cooking lesson, which was a perfect success. Only one thing had set on fire this time! Something, he might add, which is very important now that she doesn’t live in Waterfall anymore; house fires are a lot more of a problem on the Surface and the friendly firefighters don’t seem to appreciate coming over all the time, even if Papyrus did offer them free spaghetti.

Less successful was their talk. Just like Sans, she didn’t share anything that actually helped Papyrus figure things out. Instead, Undyne just kept going on and on about how much she loves Alphys and how smart she is and how Undyne loves her and wants to pop the question and “you’ll be my best man, won’t you, nerd?” 

“Of course,” he responded, as any best friend would. Then, he ducked out of noogie range to add, “Someone has to make sure you don’t forget your vows like you do your other monologues. Or make it all about baby cartoons.”

Needless to say, the kitchen didn’t get any cleaner after that. But on the plus side, Papyrus won that impromptu spaghetti fight _and_ without getting any marinara stuck in his eye sockets. That’s what he would like to call a win!

* * *

The thing is, Papyrus couldn’t muster up the ability to _dislike_ his soulmate.

Even from their first meeting, he knew that wasn’t going to be the case. After managing to convince him that yes, he really wasn’t hurt (physically speaking) and was just stunned (true in more ways than he cared to admit), Edge offered to buy him something to drink and a pastry, regardless of the fact that Papyrus had an employee discount. Sitting in the quietest back corner of the café, the two of them sat and got to know each other a bit. Overall, Edge was really nice. Before leaving, they exchanged phone numbers, because that’s what one is supposed to do upon meeting their soulmate.

Since then, the two of them have stayed in pretty frequent contact. Luckily, Edge has some similar interests. It makes it a lot easier to spend time with the other skeleton when it can be done as an informal morning jog or a friendly sparring session instead of a _real_ date.

Edge, as it turns out, was a high ranking member of the Royal guard in his Underground. His captain’s right-hand man, in fact. His abilities are clear when they spar together. Edge moves with a brutal precision, each attack designed to inflict as much damage as possible without leaving himself vulnerable. Papyrus can respect that, even if it seems a bit… murdery, by his standards. Still impressive, though, and it makes fighting a proper challenge!

Also a connoisseur of fine pasta, Edge has opened up a new world of noodly possibilities in the form of lasagne. His methods of cooking are definitely different than Papyrus’; his passion for his food is a lot more restrained. However, his creative potential is unreal! Once, he made spaghetti using only a handful of ingredients, all from scratch! The noodles itself took only three things, one of which being water. In Papyrus’ esteemed opinion, that just goes to show the versatility of pasta.

Beneath Edge’s Underfell-y exterior which can only be described — as much as he hates the pun — as edgy, there hides someone who tries his best to help others, which is something Papyrus himself can relate with. Since reaching the Surface, his LV has remained untouched, proof that he could change to be a better person when removed from a society that encouraged less than ideal behaviours. Edge understands what it means to believe in others. He gets it. Unlike so many others who treat Papyrus like a child for having that optimism, Edge agrees with him. Their mutual understanding is something Papyrus is grateful for each time the topic comes up.

So, yes, Papyrus likes Edge. The problem is, to put it simply, he still couldn’t bring himself to like his soulmate in a romantic sense. He _is_ trying. For Edge’s sake, he wants to figure it out. But, no matter how much he puzzles through it to find the missing pieces, he just doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere!

Any conversations he has had with people who know their soulmates haven’t helped. If anything, it has been discouraging. Papyrus is genuinely excited for them and their good relationships, he really is, but he still doesn’t get it.

He just can't get it.

He has been doing all the same things: he spends time alone with Edge and all that. But at the end of the day, his affections don’t go anywhere beyond friendship like they are supposed to for his soulmate. In fact, Papyrus would say that how he feels spending time with Edge isn’t really different than how he feels spending time with Sans, and he knows for sure that his love for his brother isn’t the slightest bit romantic. Besides being related, he has standards.

Maybe, he just needs more time.

Maybe.

* * *

“Papyrus,” Edge says, tilting his chin up so that Papyrus has no choice but to look him eye socket to eye socket. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s going to be okay.”

Except it most certainly is not going to be okay. It is very much not okay. Edge knows that something is up. He can tell that something is wrong with him and — and —

“Papyrus. Breathe.”

“But —”

“ _Breathe._ ”

He does, even though it seems dumb; he is a skeleton and, as of last time he checked, he doesn’t have lungs. When Edge gives him a Look, he takes another breath. And another. And, fine, he can admit it: this is starting to help, even if it still feels mostly unnecessary. 

Patting Papyrus’ shoulder, Edge murmurs in his typical gruff way, “There you go. There you go.” 

“That was awful,” he bemoans, hiding his face in his hands. It’s bad enough that he is going to have to admit the sordid truth to Edge. But to start it all with this? How humiliating.

“I bet it was.” Edge exhales slowly, and Papyrus can’t tell if it is a disappointed sigh or not. Either way, Edge doesn’t elaborate.

After a few seconds, Papyrus can’t bear it anymore.

“I’m not the skeleton you think I am.”

That earns a puzzled blink. “I don’t understand.”

“That is precisely my dilemma.” He takes yet another deep breath. In theory, it should help calm him down again. Instead, it serves as fuel to an increasingly disoriented burst of rambling. “No one seems to understand how I feel. Or, more precisely, how I don’t feel! I am a fraud, a veritable sham of a skeleton who has been falsifying any and all semblances of romantic feelings for you. And soon, you shall see that the Great Papyrus truly isn’t that great and you will hate me for being a bad soulmate and not feeling the way I’m supposed to and —”

“Papyrus.”

Promptly, he clacks his teeth together, forcing himself to stop talking. He has already said too much. Far too much. Chest heaving, it feels like he has been subjected to the pressure of Mt Ebott itself crushing his rib cage. Papyrus can’t even bring himself to clue into how gentle — nay, how _reassuring_ — Edge’s tone was until his soulmate starts speaking once more.

“It’s all right. You’re all right.”

There is a certain look in Edge’s eye lights that clearly says that he has more to say. Papyrus swears that he recognises that look, not necessarily from having seen it. No, it is something that reaches deep down into his sinking soul. It’s a belief in Papyrus.

That perceived belief isn’t as uplifting as it should be. Already, he can hear the words, spoken out of the honest — if not misguided — assumption that if he just tries, if he just gives it more time, he will be able to have those romantic feelings. Even though he has already given it lots of time. Even though, deep down, he doesn't _want_ those romantic feelings for himself.

Papyrus can’t deal with that today. Or ever, really, but that is beside the point. Averting his gaze to his toes, he says, “Sure I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should really get going. I’ve, uh, got important things to do. Yes. Lots of very important things. Away from you. And my house. Not because you’re in it, that would be absolutely ridiculous, but because of all the important things.” He rises to his feet, ready to run outside without putting on a pair of shoes if need be.

But Edge, who is just as avid a puzzler as Papyrus himself, says something which gets him to stop midstep.

“It’s okay, you know. I never expected that from you.”

Optimistic relief causes him to sink back down on the couch. “You… you didn’t? But we’re soulmates. We’re supposed to —”

“Are we?" Edge turns, assuring that they look each other in the eye as he continues, "Papyrus, you just said yourself that you don’t feel that way, and that is completely fine. When I met you, I was open to the idea of a romantic relationship, but only if you were too. I am more than open to having our relationship be one of friendship.”

He can’t believe his non-existent ears. 

Edge… he is being completely sincere. There is no doubt in Papyrus’ mind about this. He one hundred percent means his offer to remain as friends, with no further expectations of it evolving to that infamous ‘something more’. This is a balm to his soul, a dream he hadn’t dared to imagine. 

It is only when Edge coughs that Papyrus realises his prolonged silence might have been a teensy bit ominous. He imagines that Edge’s current expression — eye lights carefully fixed to the carpet, full of misery — mirrors what his had looked like a few minutes ago. “ _If_ you want to remain friends, that is. I don’t wish to assume. If not…”

“No!” Papyrus exclaims, a fraction too loudly. More subdued, he says, “I… I would like to be friends.”

A hint of a smile makes its way onto Edge’s face. “I would like that too.”

“Good.”

For a few seconds, neither of them say anything. Then, Edge reaches a gloved hand to Papyrus’ face, quickly trailing his thumb down his cheekbone. “Sorry,” he mutters, “you had tears. Now, should we continue with our marathon, or is there something else you want to do?”

Immediately understanding the redirect, Papyrus suggests, “Have you seen _Me, Myself and Mettaton_ yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, then,” he says, getting up to grab the movie, “you are in for a real cinematic delight!”

That delight continues through the into the wee hours of the night, the two of them enjoying time together as purely platonic buddies. There is nothing more to it, which is such a beautiful thing. Even an hour or so past midnight, when Papyrus’ shifting on the couch accidentally verges into the territory of cuddling, everything remains the same. Instead of the contact stressing him out, there is a sense of utter peace in his soul. And when Edge shuffles a bit closer, there is no worry that his affectionate touch had led him into believing that Papyrus wanted something more. They simply share a blanket and animatedly discuss the merits of the various movies they have watched.

And that’s perfectly fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a thinly veiled metaphor of how painful the expectations of an amatonormative society can be for people on the aromantic spectrum and the importance of coming to accept your identity? It’s more likely than you think.
> 
> I’ve been waffling on whether or not to actually finish this since I started it a few months ago. On one hand, it’s been fairly therapeutic to write. On the other hand, the idea of posting aromantic “why can’t I love” type angst just seemed… not that great. There is so little representation to begin with, and I felt bad about making this part of it. 
> 
> However, as someone from a religious background who definitely grew with the idea of meeting The One, getting married and having a family, working through internalised arophobia has been — and often still is — an ordeal. It’s definitely gotten better since learning more about aromanticism, but it’s unfortunately easy to fall into the unhealthy mindset of aromantic → not normal → broken.
> 
> So, brief little rant aside, I hope you enjoyed this. And if you are also someone who has struggled with this kind of thing, you are not alone.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


End file.
